The Five Senses
by iamtheletter13
Summary: Gary is poisonous, Jimmy wants to change him, Pete is stuck in the middle, and Johnny is using Pete to forget about Lola. JimmyxGary, JohnnyxPetey, GaryxPetey.
1. Touch

Touch

[A/N: I'm back in the Bully fandom. This one is probably gonna end up being shorter and lighter than Stop Motion, but who knows?]

"Stop being such a pussy! Harder!" Gary snarled, expression halfway between pained and delighted.

Jimmy wanted to shut him up, but his hands were occupied, and Gary bit a little too hard to be playful when he tried to kiss him, his lip still bleeding from his last attempt. He groaned and sped up his motions, resulting in another high-pitched whine from the dark haired male. Jimmy never realized how beautiful Gary could be when he wasn't trying to hurt someone.  
"You're still... too... s-soft, James..." His voice was weaker, but there was almost tangible cruelty behind it.  
"Come on, I've gotten rougher fucks from girls. Y-you're p... pitiful."

Jimmy scowled, releasing Gary's wrists and grabbing a tight hold on his hips, driving him up while shoving forward. He knew Gary was bleeding; the little bit of preparation Gary had done, with saliva and his fingers, was hardly enough to lubricate their ministrations properly. The sadist under him melted, mewling a bit too loudly, his arousal hitting his toned stomach in a lewd way. The redhead had tried to touch him, near the beginning, but Gary had slapped his hand away like he was offended by it.

Jimmy came first. He was holding off, not wanting to leave the other male unsatisfied, but he couldn't last, pushing a few more times, holding Gary still in the awkward position they had been in. He dropped the brunette, who reached a hand between their sweat-glistening bodies to bring himself to orgasm, falling limp under Jimmy.  
"Get... off..." He grunted, and Jimmy managed to roll onto his back, looking up at the foreign ceiling of his classmate's room.  
"This... n-never happened." Gary stood, staggering into his bathroom and closing the door with a slam hard enough to make one of his posters fall from the wall.

Jimmy stood, adjusted his pants, and slipped as quietly out of the room as he could, reeling. It had started with a confrontation. Jimmy had gone to Gary's room after Pete came to him crying, telling him about what new horrible thing Gary had done to him. Tired of hearing about it, he confronted the sadist in his room.

Gary was hunched over his desk, scribbling in his notebook, stopping and turning around in his seat to glare over at the brunette. And then they fought. Gary lunged, Jimmy easily countered, and they were on the floor, chests heaving, Gary still thrashing to break free. There had been stillness, the two of them staring each other down, then Gary's legs were wrapped around Jimmy's waist, and he lifted his hips to grind on him, then thought was impossible.

Jimmy hadn't been more sated in his entire life, even though he knew that Gary had used him. He only had the illusion of control, emphasized by the fact that he did exactly what Gary demanded of him all throughout their ministrations, whether it was a verbal command or the tugging of his head to his neck, Jimmy having left purple-red bruises all over it. It was sinful, and the redhead had to stop in the hallway, on his way back to his own room, wondering exactly where it had all gone wrong.


	2. Taste

Taste

[A/N: I blame mewmewgodess, and you should too. She gave me the plot, I turned it into… this. This is not in any way connected to Stop Motion, just a cute little oneshot. Pff, yeah, cute. I didn't mean for it to happen, but smoking is a very big theme in this thing. Don't smoke, children; it causes cancer. I'm such a bad influence…]

Johnny's face was screwed up with bitter frustration. He was staring at the wall of magazines before him, all of them sporting some kind of celebrity he couldn't care less about on the cover. Lola had begged him to buy her one, but he couldn't remember the name of it for the life of him. Lifting one of them with a girlish-looking male smiling mischievously at whatever thirteen year old was supposed to be holding it, he flipped through the thin pages. There was ad after ad for skinny jeans and fruity perfumes, and he scowled unhappily at it, setting it down again with unhappy disgust. He was on to the next one.

"This one has gossip in it." There was a small voice from beside him, and Johnny turned to see a magazine extended to him.

"Lola would probably like it..." Peter's tone was almost a squeak, as though he was afraid the leather-clad male would backhand him just because he existed.

"Thanks, kid." Vincent replied with a toothy grin, taking the magazine and admiring its cover. It just happened to be the one that Lola had requested.

"N-no problem." Peter replied, and he turned to scurry back into whatever hole he had slipped out of.

"Hey, leaving so soon?" The greaser's hand shot out and grabbed onto the back of Pete's uniform, making him into a ball of nerves. He was visibly shaking.

"Come on, let me return the favor. You like food?" There was sheer disbelief painted on the smaller teen's feminine features as he shot Johnny a look from over his shoulder, still stiff with tension.

"Y-yeah, I guess." He mumbled, and Johnny beamed, nonchalantly stuffing the rolled-up magazine into his leather jacket before moving towards the door.

The pizza place was relatively empty, and Johnny sat in one of the corner stalls as though he lived there, one knee up on the seat, arms hanging carelessly from the back of the booth. Pete could almost see the cigarette hanging from his fingers, the mob bodyguards standing around with guns tucked into the fronts of their pinstriped pants, and it made him uneasy. He was shifting around in his seat, staring at the table with worried eyes, hands folded in his lap.

"So, wha'dda'yah do on your free time, uh…"

"Peter."

"Wait, are you the kid who hangs out with that sociopath-"

"Gary, yeah."

Johnny scoffed and was largely ignored by the passing waiter, Pete opening his mouth as though to say something, but falling immediately quiet. He assumed that the waiter must have been busy with something else and couldn't be bothered helping a couple of teenagers.

"Why do you hang out with him anyway? I'm sure he treats you like shit." The greaser reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and Pete glanced around to see if a group of mobsters was going to pop out of the shadows like in his daydream.

"He does." Pete answered with a nervous laugh, hazel eyes flicking about in the mostly-empty room.

Johnny moved to light his cigarette, as though the rules didn't really apply to him, but the Zippo in his hand slipped and clattered to the table noisily. It fell to the floor, and Pete – on instinct – stooped to grab it. He returned, wearing a smile that showed his embarrassment at the way he had scurried after the little silver fire-maker, sitting back in his seat and moving to hand it back to the black-haired male. The cancer stick hung loosely between Johnny's lips, and he didn't even move to take the lighter, watching Peter expectantly.

Pete eyed the lighter in his hand, then the slack arms that were once again draped over the seat, obviously not moving to light his own cigarette. Opening the lid of the Zippo, he flicked once, blushing with shame when all it did was click uselessly, again, and a flame sputtered up but vanished, then a third time. The yellow and orange danced at his fingertips, and the small male couldn't help the victorious glee that flooded his chest. Johnny leaned forward and sucked on the cigarette with pursed lips, his eyes never leaving Peter's, an ember sparking to life with his intake. Pete closed the little silver cap and held out his hand to offer it back to the greaser, but Johnny waved it away with the hand that then possessed the toxic cylinder.

"Keep it. I've got a shit-ton of those." Johnny said with a pleasant smile, smoke floating around his handsome face with the words.

"Th-thanks." Pete said with another weak beam, slipping it awkwardly into his front pocket just as the waiter arrived with the pizza they didn't order.

The man yanked the cigarette out of Johnny's mouth unceremoniously and left them, an amused laugh leaving the greaser's lips. He watched the waiter - who had a strange resemblance to him - retreat before he turned towards the meal before him, taking a piece and opening his mouth. He stopped when he saw that Pete wasn't even moving to eat.

"Go ahead, my treat." The taller of the two said, nodding towards the pizza.

"I- well… It's a nice gesture, but I just ate lunch, and…"

"You shoulda said somethin'!" The greaser exclaimed, and he stood without another word, not at all offended.

He reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed out a wad of tightly-rolled cash, leaving a twenty on the table before walking nonchalantly towards the door. When they were outside he lit another cigarette with an identical Zippo and let the smoke mingle with the toxins already in the air, fueled by the factories not a mile away. Pete looked at the ground as he went, so out of place among the messy poverty he was walking through.

A gust of wind brought a face-full of smoke to Peter's mouth, and he tried to hold back a cough so that he didn't alert his potentially dangerous companion of his discomfort. His eyes watered and he cleared his throat, getting him a sideways glance from the greaser who smiled with a hint of worry behind his genuine amusement.

"Not used to smokes?" He tried, and Pete went red with embarrassment, feeling suddenly guilty because of his lack of tolerance.

"I can put it out if it's botherin' yah." Johnny said, but the smaller male shook his head fervently.

"I don't mind, really, it just… Surprised me." There was another one of the weak smiles that Johnny thought was adorable, like he was trying his best to get his approval.

"Wanna try?" The devilish smirk the greaser shot his way made a shiver crawl up his spine.

"I-I guess…" He really was trying for approval, desperate for it. Johnny wasn't Gary, and he was going out of his way to be friendly, which made his heart leap.

The leather-clad male handed Pete the cigarette and he held it awkwardly in his hand, pulling some of the noxious smoke into his mouth in the same manner he had watched Johnny light it with. Red faced, cherry lips tightly surrounding the cylinder, he inhaled, careful to keep it between his thumb and forefinger. Johnny found it oddly lurid, until his eyes went wide and he offered it back to him.

Pete keeled over, holding his midsection with his unused hand and hacking at the dirty asphalt with wheezing intensity. He was immediately dizzy with the nicotine rush, wobbling on his already unsure feet, and Johnny held onto his shoulder for added support. He laughed heartily, patting his back roughly to aid in the coughs he was aiming at the ground, taking the cigarette in his other hand.

"You big wuss." He joked lightheartedly, taking a drag of the life-giving poison.

"That – _hak_ – wasn't so bad." Peter managed when he had regained his breath, a stray tear leaving his quickly-blinking eyes.

"I remember my first cigarette. It feels nice, don't it?" Pete wiped away the tear before looking back up at Johnny, who was smiling with such serene sureness it made his stomach flip-flop. It might have been the nicotine, though.

"I don't feel much of – woah…" Pete's sentence was stopped when the world turned suddenly in one direction and he felt a rush that wasn't quite as innocent as he had hoped it would be, making his face redden furiously.

They continued down the path they were on until Johnny slipped into a condemned building, followed closely by a Pete who was no longer riding his fading tobacco high, suddenly nervous. They went into one of the rooms, and Johnny sat in his informal, sprawled-out way on a tattered couch on one side of the room. It was against the wall under a boarded-up window, and Pete eyed the mattress with springs poking out of it unsurely.

Johnny patted the space to his right on the cough, more cramped than he would have liked seeing as – somehow – the greaser was taking up almost all of the moth-eaten piece of furniture. Pete walked closer to him, gave the couch a weary look, then sat next to him, eyeing the cigarette in a way that he hoped was subtle.

It wasn't, not in the least, and Johnny offered it to him again, letting the smaller male take it and inhale another bit of the toxins. He had another coughing fit, but it was shorter and not quite as painful-sounding. When he was done trembling and the tears had been blinked out of his eyes, Johnny elbowed the teen next to him and sucked in a mouthful of smoke.

His lips formed a perfect little "O" and he tapped his concaved cheek quickly, little dots leaving his mouth before dispersing into the stagnant air. Peter stared in awe, and Johnny handed him the cancer stick again.

"Don't inhale – there you go, now make a circle and…" Johnny's fingers tapped Pete's cheek with quick little movements, and the same effect was achieved.

Peter giggled with childish glee, the rest of the grey smoke leaving his mouth with the force of his laugh, and Johnny grinned through the cigarette. He took another drag and opened his mouth, the smoke moving from his lips to his nose to be sucked in through the other orifice, leaving little streams of grey-white as it went. Pete didn't realize he was squirming in his seat or that his teeth were biting into his lip.

"You liked that? I got other tricks, too. I'll teach you…" The smile on the greaser's lips made another shiver shoot up Peter's spine, and he released the lip he was biting on, averting his gaze.

"Sure..." The smaller male agreed with a genuine smile, and Johnny leaned forward. The already-tight closeness increased, and Pete leaned against the armrest behind him.

"Open your mouth." Johnny coaxed, and Pete immediately obeyed, his chest heaving with thrill.

The leather-clad boy took a drag then opened his own mouth, inches from Pete's, tilting his head so they would have fit perfectly together had he moved just a little bit closer. The smaller of the two whimpered aloud, then he tasted the oddly tantalizing, stale flavor of chemical on his tongue, rolling over his mouth, into the back of his throat. Pete faltered and breathed it in, the taste of cigarette and Johnny and delinquency, moaning out a clean exhale.

He felt the rush suddenly, pushing forward against the greaser's waiting mouth, a nicotine-coated tongue flickering against his own. Another pitiful sound left his throat, caught in the passion between them, pale fingers disheveling slicked-back hair. Pete's leg was guided to the side so that Johnny was perched between his thighs, his back arched on the armrest.

Johnny didn't know what possessed him; he was with Lola, he shouldn't have been interested in anyone else, let alone a boy, but Pete was adorable like his girl had been before she discovered her immoral skills. Pete was untouched, untarnished, a clean slate that was dripping with the need to be darkened, dirtied. He was so innocent it made the greaser's chest flutter and gut protest with desire, and he lapped against the tongue that was flicking with timid inexperience against his own.

There were shapely hips rutting against him, and Johnny could feel the prominent arousal through Pete's khakis, pressed firmly against his thigh. The greaser moved his leg to meet the desperate motion, and there was a pained noise lost in the sloppy kiss. The older male pulled away and smiled devilishly down at the beet-red face below him, turned to stare intently at the wall.

"Here." Johnny offered, leading the somehow-intact cigarette to his lips.

Pete took a deep drag that filled his cheeks then disappeared into his lungs with an inhale, leaving as the smaller male carefully breathed out the delicious sting. He found the courage to look back at Johnny, who still held the little thing that had almost dwindled to the filter between his index and middle finger. There was another move of the greaser's thigh, and Pete's breath hitched, realizing there was nothing to muffle his noises.

"You're so pretty..." Vincent purred out silkily, the words winning him a more aggressive thrust against his thigh and a ragged gasp.

Johnny put out the cigarette on the floor, what had once been hardwood but was nothing more that rotting planks, and the pink shirt Pete was wearing was gently being tugged over his head. The smaller teen lifted his arms and the greaser admired the pink-red flush that was beginning to spread over his chest, his stomach, lower.

"And you taste so…" Johnny lapped gently at the nape of his neck, none of the bitterness of perfume or lotion meeting his tongue.

"Good…" It was hummed into Peter's ear, and he whimpered, constantly rutting against the thigh that was hardly enough.

When there were hands working on the button to khaki pants, Pete stopped him with a gentle palm on his wrist, and Johnny paused, glancing up at him with worry. He looked almost pained, the motion of his hips stopping suddenly, hazel orbs beautifully masked in a lusty haze.

"You okay?" Johnny asked, and Pete shook his head.

"Gary's gonna kill me, but… You smell so good, and…" Johnny pulled away. Apparently, they were both in relationships.

With a casual smile, Johnny offered Pete another cigarette, and it was taken with a grateful smile.

"That's cool. Let's just… Stay here." Pete nodded meekly in agreement, sitting up and leaning his head on Johnny's shoulder.

"This never happened." They both said in unison.


	3. Hearing

Hearing

Pete's room was right next to Jimmy's, and whenever Gary was nice enough for Pete to let him have him, the noise reverberated through the wall, and Jimmy couldn't help that he listened. His breathing was heavy and he felt like a creep, hearing Pete beg for Gary to slow down, ease up, stop hurting him. Gary hadn't protested like that, Jimmy recalled rather fondly, forcing his smile away.

"D-don't break th-the skin – ah! Gary, stop it!" Pete protested loudly, Jimmy shuddering.

The creaking of the flimsy bed frame through the wall suddenly stopped, and Jimmy ignored Pete's crying to focus instead on the slam of his dorm room door, the heavy patter of footsteps, then a knock at his own door.

"Who is it?" Jimmy asked even though he knew exactly who it was, why he was there. Gary entered the room without being invited, clad only in a pair of blue plaid pajama pants, red marks down his front and assuredly down his back. His glare was pure murder.

Without a word, Gary dropped his pants, locking the door behind him and making his way with a determination that was halfway terrifying to the bed. When he was there, he straddled Jimmy's lap, glancing at the wall separating them and a crying Peter.

"What the Hell did you do to him?" Jimmy asked, letting Gary ease him into a laying position, then pull the blanket down.

"Bit his shoulder." The sadist answered plainly, grinding down on the redhead, looking wild and needy. He fell forward, mouth by Jimmy's ear.

"You wanna fuck me?" He asked, forcing Jimmy's hand to his backside.

"No." The redhead responded, body refusing to let him do the right thing, go comfort his friend. His hips were jerking upwards, though, towards the friction of barely-there clothing.

"Don't lie." Gary purred in a lurid way,

"Pete is in the next room. He can hear us."

"Good. I want him to know what a real fuck sounds like." Without Jimmy noticing it, Gary had eased his pajamas down his hips, just low enough, kicking his own underwear off awkwardly, the fabric hanging from one leg.

Gary let Jimmy have him dry. The redhead wasn't fond of the initial friction, but the ragged scream that tore from his throat was enough to make his hips jerk upwards, his eyes roll into the back of his head. There wasn't as much friction, suddenly, and Gary's uncomfortable little yelps turned to sighs of undeniable pleasure.

"Y-yeah, you're… you're a real man, ohGodharder…" Gary whimpered out, Jimmy opening his eyes to look up at him, his naked form twitching above him, the way his eyes were clamped shut and his mouth hung open. Jimmy touched him, and he didn't slap his hand away that time, trying to move into the hand around him and back on the violation at the same time, resulting in an erratic rolling of slender hips.

"Say my name, Gary…" Jimmy breathed, forgetting all about the sobbing directly adjacent to them, the two of them on a distant planet, completely alone. Gary was certainly better than his own hand.

"Hnn… J-jimmy… You f… shit, I…" Gary stammered, speeding up suddenly. He had been in the middle of a heinous act already before storming to Jimmy's room, and his climax was faster than it had been the first time. He tightened, and the redhead followed with a loud grunt, both of them moving a few more times before Gary fell forward and Jimmy fell slack.

There was a moment of tense silence, the redhead mortified, staring at the wall beside them, through which he could still hear crying, though it was softer. There was another voice, shushing him soothingly, someone he didn't initially recognize, but his concentration was broken when Gary stumbled off of the bed and fell into a limp heap on the floor.

"You know it's good if you can't walk afterwards…" Gary commented with a twisted grin, dragging himself to the bathroom.

Jimmy laid in his bed for a while, listening to the hiss of his shower, to Pete's sobs subsiding, the unknown voice cooing at him softly. He threw the blankets off of him, readjusted his disheveled clothing, and snuck off in the direction of the adjacent room.

Johnny was there, holding onto the lithe male, rocking him back and forth. He snapped his eyes up to the intruder, promptly throwing a shoe at him, Jimmy just barely blocking the projectile with the door. He was about to ask why, but he knew full well, hanging his head in shame.

"You bastard… You let Gary fuck you?" Johnny asked scathingly, Jimmy furrowing his eyebrows in surprise, half because of the question, which wasn't properly worded, half because he had expected anybody but Johnny.

"No, I-" Pete broke into hysterics again, leaning into Johnny's chest.

"Tell your psychotic lover boy that it's over, yeah?" The greaser demanded, back to comforting Pete, ignoring the redhead. Jimmy slinked back to his room, Gary lying in his bed, a satisfied smile on his face.

"I never really liked him anyway. He bitched too much." The sadist admitted, though it wasn't really true. He was broken internally, knew that his rash actions, however in-the-moment they had been, were just that – rash. He wanted Pete back, even when Jimmy climbed into bed next to him, wrapping unsure arms around the sadist. He could hear Johnny in the other room, inviting Pete away.


End file.
